Page 54 of Savage Daddies

The TV plays quietly, and Zoe watches it absentmindedly, before blurting out, “I mean, does he ever care to ask about my childhood? No.”

Poet turns to observe her, sadness pooling in his eyes.

“I never wanted this,” she says.

Wrangler frowns. “What did you never want? Marriage?”

Zoe stares at the TV.

Then her eyes go wide.

“SHIT!” She sets the drink down quickly, spilling some over her arm.

“Woah!” Wrangler takes off to grab a towel. “Careful.”

Zoe shoulders him away. “Sammy! I was supposed to collect her from ballet hours ago. No.” Her eyes go wider. “Oh no. The picture, and the bathroom and the?—”

“Woah, woah.” I leap up to steady her. “It’s OK. We’ll drive you.”

Her hands tremble. “No. Not to the ballet class. Father would’ve received a call. She’ll be at his by now or something. Oh no.” She cups her hands over her mouth to stifle a sob. “I’m in so much trouble.”

I wish I could console the poor girl and say she’s not. That everything will be fine.

But I’m no liar.

12

WRANGLER

My watchnow reads 10:20, which means Zoe is twenty minutes late getting out of Pilates. Parked up outside the studio, I watch every single woman leavebuther.

“Did Zoe attend this morning?”

“No,” answers one of the girls leaving the studio. She wears pink flared leggings and jet-black hair swirled back into a bun so tight it looks like it’s giving her a headache. “She’ll be with her Prince Charming.”

I narrow my eyes, unsure if that’s supposed to be sarcasm or not.

Anxiety creeps into my stomach. Forgetting to pick up Sammy will bury Zoe in deep shit. In a backwards way, I just pray that Felix cares so little about his daughter that he won’t punish Zoe.

But clearly not.

Otherwise Zoe would be leaving Pilates class by now.

Unless she left early to go somewhere else.

Where, is the question.

I start up the engine, ignoring the women around me who twirl their hair and giggle in response to the revs, and get the fuck out of here.

Jesus, I thought the bathroom situation last night would eradicate all desires for Zoe out of my head for good…but it’s worsened them. Maybe it’s because my dick remained in my pants. If I had finished inside of her, maybe things would be different. Nothing washes reality over you quite like post-nut clarity. At the masquerade when I fucked Zoe, depression overcame me in the days that followed. That’s what I need—to crawl into a hole and regret my life choices enough to never want to bother Zoe again.

This situation isn’t easy, though. She’s in trouble. I can’t turn a blind eye to that. The club might sit below the law, but club members pride themselves—some of them, anyway—on lawful acts, like saving women from oppressive billionaires who seem invincible.

But just once.

Sex with her, just one time, might kill the overthinking. Besides, we were drunk at the masquerade. The environment was hazy. Full of masked figures and blurry neon lights, tuberose pheromones cloaking around me like a curse. Sometimes, you ruin the thing by overdoing it.

So I need to overdo it.

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